


Undercover Lovers

by sansaswildlinglover



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake Marriage, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-09-21 05:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17037581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaswildlinglover/pseuds/sansaswildlinglover
Summary: Sansa was young and stupid when she followed Joffrey across the Narrow Sea. She fancied herself in love and about to enter a fairtytale. Instead she walked into a nightmare.Trapped in a foreign country, now she has to trust another man -and even worse, herself- to get home again.





	Undercover Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the crappy title :")
> 
> I'm not even sure if this makes sense :)

Sansa turns around to pace the length of the room for what must be the fiftieth time in the last twenty minutes.

"Will you please sit down, sweetheart?" Satin sighs, uncrossing and crossing his legs again as he leans back in the recliner next to the small coffee table. "I promised you he'd come. He'll be here in a couple of minutes."

She takes his advice, the pacing isn't helping one bit anyway.  _How did I end up here?_ The answer's simple enough. She used to be a stupid girl with a head full of dreams, and she thought leaving everything behind to follow her boyfriend to a foreign country was incredibly romantic.

It didn't take long for her dream to be shattered, and when she tried to return home, she couldn't even do that, because she didn't have the right documents. She's been trapped in Volantis for six months now, living off her savings, but they're about to run out.

The Westerosi embassy had been closed years ago, but she'd heard of a high end hotel, where shady deals were struck by businessman from her homeland. She'd been told they were the only ones who could provide her with the right documents to cross the Narrow Sea.

She'd found a nice dress and a pair of heels and decided she'd do whatever needed to be done. She'd only been at the bar for ten minutes when a short, slender man with smiling eyes and a pointy beard approached her.

His hair was peppered with grey, but Sansa thought he couldn't be much older than thirty. He ordered her a drink and introduced himself as Petyr. She gave him a false name, just to be safe.

"I haven't seen you before," he said, his eyes travelling over her body, creeping her out. "You're not from around here, are you?"

She reckoned there was no point trying to hide it? "Am I that obvious?" she asked.

"Not necessarily," he indulged her. "But I've always been able to pick out the truly desperate ones."

A distant voice warned her to run at that exact moment, but she ignored it, even if she couldn't really remember why.

Satin walked over to her after a couple more minutes. She couldn't see where he was coming from, but he greeted her with an arm draped over her shoulders and a kiss to the cheek.

"There you are!" he exclaimed cheerfully, turning to Petyr then. "The girl's with me, Baelish," he told him.

He led her away from the bar, and into a dark booth. "Did you drink anything he offered you?"

She shook her head, too dazed to object to his actions.

"Good," he said with a smile. "You really don't want to get involved with Littlefinger."

Realization dawned on her. "You mean he put something in my drink?"

"Positive."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked him, narrowing her eyes.

"I've seen him do it before," he shrugged. "If you'd finished that drink, tomorrow morning, you'd wake up in one of his mansions. And the only way you'd ever leave is as a corpse. Do I have to explain to you what he uses those girls for?"

She shook her head, trying to push down the feeling of nausea that was rising in her stomach. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Now, do you want to get back home?"

She stared at him. "Why are you helping me?"

"It's what I do," he answered with a smile. "I can get you in touch with a guy who can get you back to Westeros."

That was a week ago. Sansa's grateful that he's trying to help her,  but her impatience is making her nervous and suspicious.

There's a knock at the door and Satin rises to his feet to go and unlock it.

He doesn' t look anything like she imagined a member of the Night's Watch to look, but she supposes she should have expected that. He looks inconspicuous, which is probably kind of the point. He's of average height, average build, but on the slender, athletic side.

He's handsome though, she notes, in that dark, brooding way some girls like. He could definitely benefit from smiling once in a while. 

"Jon Snow," he introduces himself simply, holding out his hand. Sansa wonders whether that's his real name. She takes his hand, marvelling at the odd smoothness of his palm, that's only disrupted by a couple of harsh ridges near the edge of it.

"Nice to meet you," she answers him. “I am-

"Sara Snow," he finishes for her. "That's the name that matters right now. You should remember that."

"Sara Snow," she repeats, trying out the feel of it on her tongue. "So I am to be...?"

"My wife, aye," he confirms. "A woman travelling alone would be too suspicious. It's better this way, trust me."

She desperately wants to, she really does, even if his gruff ways unsettle her a bit. "Alright."

He takes the last empty seat at the coffee table, bracing his elbows on his splayed thighs. Sansa see the strain of his jeans and shirt over his muscles.

"I know a guy who'll take care of all the paper work," he tells her, giving her an intense look. "But we should work on a story."

She nods, wringing her hands together. "Sure, where should we start?"

"At the beginning probably?" he suggests. "How did we meet?"

She bites her lip as she mulls over his question, narrowing her eyes at him, and smiles, causing his head to tilt curiously as she leans forward.

She's always liked stories, so much even she'd taken up acting a couple of years before she met Joffrey. She'd even starred in a couple of movies, only small parts of course, but he asked her to stop, because he didn't like it, and being the stupid girl she was, she agreed.

"How about this?" she starts.

***

"We'll have to dye your hair," Jon mutters suddenly, staring at her from across the room.

Her mouth falls open. "What?"

"The colour is too conspicuous," he clarifies as he gets up to walk over to where she's sitting on the bed. "Someone might recognize you."

She shakes her head, looking up at him. "No, that's extremely unlikely."

"But not impossible," he points out.

Her bottom lip starts trembling and her hands fly up to clutch a strand of hair.

He flinches. "Are you going to cry?" he sighs, and that's what breaks her. She lets herself fall back onto the bed, flipping onto her stomach, and sobs into the comforter.

After a while, the mattress dips and she feels a hand on the small of her back. She veers up, startled.

"I'm sorry," he mutters.

"It's alright," she tells him, turning onto her side until she's facing him. She props herself up on her elbow, mirroring him.

"You're my husband, remember?" she jokes. "I should get used to you touching me."

He chuckles and offers her a smile, and she thinks she might understand why he doesn't smile that often. It's quite a dazzling sight, horribly distracting, just like the way he's gazing at her right now.

"Don't worry, princess," he says, and his eyes have never been this soft before. "You'll still be beautiful, even without the pretty red hair," he adds, fingering a lock of her hair. 

Perhaps she should be insulted by the fact that he's calling her princess. It's what her sister used to call her when she was mocking her, but she can't help it when she blurts out: "You think I'm beautiful?"

His throat bobs up and down, and suddenly she's aware of their intimate position. 

"Objectively speaking," he whispers, as if he can't trust his own voice, and he rolls away from her. "You should try to get some sleep."

She turns onto her back and sighs, closing her eyes. "Goodnight, Jon," she murmurs.

"Goodnight, Sara," he answers.

 _Sansa,_ she thinks.  _My name is Sansa._  

***

Sansa almost has a nervous breakdown on their way to the airport. She grabs Jon's hand and wheezes: "I can't do this."

"You're an actress," he reminds her. "You used to do this for a living."

"That's different," she hisses back.

"No, it's not," he objects, stopping her with a hand on her arm until she turns to face him. His hands come up to cup her cheeks and his grey gaze is intense as he slowly whispers: "This is just another performance. The most fucking important performance of your life, you can do this."

His voice is firm and his eyes are hard, but the way he frames her face in his large hands can only be called gentle, tender almost. It's almost enough to make another kind of tingle chase away the nerves causing such a turmoil in her belly. Suddenly it's difficult to breathe for an entirely different reason. She resists the urge to turn her face and nuzzle into his burnt palm.

"You can do this," he repeats, his eyes softer now, and if she didn't feel like throwing up right now, Sansa is sure she'd melt into his embrace.

She blinks and nods. "I can do this."

***

"Where will you go?" he asks when he drops her off at her hotelroom in King's Landing.

She wrings her hands together. "Home," she sighs. "If they'll still have me."

"I'm sure they will," he says with a perfunctory smile, offering her a nod.

"Jon," she whispers. "Thank you. For everything."

He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, staying put, as if he's reluctant to leave.

She bites her lip. "I still can't believe it," she tells him, because it's the truth, and because it gives her an excuse to keep him there just a little longer. "I can't believe you got me out of there."

Quite inexplicably, she starts laughing then, relief washing over her and making her giddy, as if she didn't fully realize before, and to her surprise he laughs with her.

She throws her arms around his neck to embrace him, because there's no way she could ever thank him enough, but she wants to let him know how grateful she is.

She glances up and their eyes lock, before his gaze drops to her lips.

"Would you like to come in?" she hears herself asking.

Gently he pushes her back through the door, closing it behind her. "I thought you'd never ask."

***

"Sansa," she whispers against his lips. "My name is Sansa." It suddenly seems important to tell him that.

"That's a pretty name," he compliments her, before capturing her lips again. "Jace," he pants moments later. "But I've been Jon for a very long time."

"Jace, huh?" she manages to ask between kisses that grow hungrier and sloppier.

His lips move from her mouth to her jaw and then up and down her throat. He tongues the soft spot behind her ear and confesses: "My full name is Jacaerys, but only my dad calls me that."

"Please, Jon Jace Jacaerys," she breathes, her hands tangling into his curls as his tongue finds its way down to the valley between her breasts. She doesn't really care about his name right now, only about his hands burning into her skin like a brand, and his mouth closing over her nipple through the fabric of her top.

"Take me to bed," she begs him.

 

 


End file.
